Harry Potter: Incurably Criminal Boy
by Nkari127
Summary: AU. Vernon and Petunia Barton have managed to keep any unnaturalness from their home for 15 years and don't have to lie about where their nephew goes to school. But something happens during summer break which tosses Harry straight into a world of magic.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

"_Your parents? Worthless, unemployed drunks, the both of them. Didn't even have the courtesy to leave us with anything but your mangy hide, however little we wanted it. Don't ask about them again..._

"_Where'd you get those toys? From Dudley's room? Why you little thief! Stealing my son's toys are you? All we do for you and you repay us with this behavior? I won't have it! …_

"_Dudley tells me you were watching TV with him while I was out at the grocer this afternoon. The chores aren't done yet. What were you doing taking a break? There will be no dinner for you tonight..._

"_My mother's vase! Don't! Don't try to tell me Dudley did it! You're the one that led him on that game of tag! It's your fault! Why did my sister have to dump you off on me? …_

"_No, officer, it couldn't have been my little Dudley, but I think I know the real culprit. He's here, my deadbeat sister's son. Orphan. Nothing but trouble, he stole the electronics I'm sure, not my poor Dudums..._

"_We never asked for you, never wanted you, and yet you've been here thirteen years. We've had to clothe you, feed you, provide you shelter. It's taken more quid than I care to count and I've had enough of it! You're an ingrate and it's time for you to leave. They're on their way to deliver you to your new home. We're through with you, freak..._

"_You're nothing but a freak..._

"_Freak..."_

He jerked awake with stunning alacrity and rose into a sitting position. His breath came heavy and fast as his hands supported him on the damp sheets. The slight acrid smell of sweat hung in the air around him. He brought one hand to his face and rubbed his fingers and thumb across both eyes to bring them together at the bridge of his nose then reversed the motion across his brow before finally running the hand backwards through his hair.

A well toned arm reached out to pull the curtains back from his bed and revealed the dorm style room he slept in along with four other boys his age. It was coming up on the end of May now, and the nightmares were returning. They always did before the short summer break, designed to give families a little bit of time to see their children before the students were required to return.

He turned in the bed and lowered his legs to the ground, resting his head in his hands as his short raven hair stuck out in a hundred directions. He composed himself within a few moments and glanced at the clock on the wall: 4:30am. Early, but certainly not the earliest he had ever been up, at least curfew had just ended. He had never seemed to require as much sleep as the others in his dorm, often getting by on just a few hours a night. The bags one would expect to find under his eyes were never there, his vibrant, verdant eyes always gleamed with a hidden intelligence and wisdom beyond his fifteen years.

With careful and practiced ease he rose from the bed without making a sound or shaking the structure of the bunk as to allow his dorm mate in the bed above him to continue to sleep. Carefully measured and memorized steps brought him through the relative darkness and to his dresser, where he quickly grabbed a change of clothes and his personal effects. Seconds later found him outside the room shutting the door with nary a squeek.

A sigh escaped his lips as the door closed and he clenched his teeth in a passing irritation at the dream that had woken him. It had been three years and still he was occasionally plagued by the memories. His family hated him, of that he was sure, and try as he might, he could not seem to just let go of them for good. Twice a year he had to see them, and they had to pretend to like him, for the current arrangement to work out. He shook his head to clear the thoughts and fumbled with a box of cigarettes and his lighter for a moment before taking his first drag of the morning. It was harsh as always, and he let out a quick bark of a cough. Sucking down another drag he began the walk down to the gym complex for his daily workout regimen.

Forty minutes later found him in the showers, slightly sore but feeling quite a bit more energized than upon waking. Standing in the steaming water of the shower he caught himself once again dwelling on the events that led to his rude awakening and groaned in frustration. Quickly pouring a dollop of shampoo into his hands he scrubbed his fingers through his raven hair and massaged his scalp before washing out the suds and in an unprecedented act proceeded to follow the "repeat" instructions on the bottle to the letter.

Grabbing the bar of soap he lathered up his body, taking special time as always to run his fingers across the various blemishes on his skin. A slightly raised scar on the right side of his stomach was all that remained from an attempted jumping the year before. A small burn on the back of his right hand remained from where he spilled hot oil while cooking his family breakfast when he was seven, a couple more matching scars on the top of his left arm and one on the shin of his right knee were evidence of their continuing desire for their morning food to be ready when they woke.

He looked down at his wrists with a grim pursing of lips. Raised scars there were the cause of his consternation. He had long considered covering them with ink. They remained a constant reminder of past weakness. His guardians only reaction at the time had been expressed only in their disappointment that he had continued to spite them by failing in his every action.

A throaty growl released as he shut off the water rather more violently than was strictly required. Quickly drying and tying the towel around his waist he walked to the mirror. He rested his palms on the counter and leaned forward, staring at his reflection. Things had changed since then. Things were better now. He glanced over the tattoo on his left breast.

"We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams," he whispered to himself, his commitment to the philosophy renewed in that statement. He didn't even remember the name of the film he had originally heard it from, but he had caught the one scene while dusting the living room. His family would never had allowed him to stay and watch the whole thing.

He quickly finished the rest of his morning ritual when others began to leak into the shower room. Stepping out of the locker room fully dressed and ready for the day he saw he still had an hour before his first class at seven. He started to his normal morning hangout, the library, and was quickly buried in a book, absorbing information at an astonishing rate. He had forgotten all about his Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Cousin Dudley. After all, they were still living at 7 Copper Road, far away from where he was, and though he would be seeing them soon, he would not be required to deal with the Bartons today. No, it would be just another day for him here at St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys.


	2. Welcome to Magic

**Chapter 1**

"Mister Barton, though your nephew has continued to excel in his academics, he has remained an infrequent disturbance within this school, instigating several brawls and showing little concern for societal values most adhere to. Unfortunately, his attendance in August will be necessary once again. As he has not yet reached adulthood, and has one conviction still on record, his tuition will remain covered by the state." The headmaster of St. Brutus's spoke to Vernon without regard to Harry's presence, which would have been irking had the delivery of the sentence not been exactly what both Harry and Vernon desired.

"I see," Vernon started. Harry could tell it was an effort for the whale of a man to sound devastated. "I, we that is, the family, had hoped we would be able to have him back for good - but if its the judgment of the state?"

"It is," came the direct reply from the Headmaster.

"Alright. I suppose we will make due with the time we are given, and for that – I thank you, Headmaster Buckley." A coughing fit distracted the Headmaster from Vernon's insincerity well enough, but to Harry it remained plain as day.

"Mister Barton," the Headmaster said, finally directing his attention to the youngest man in attendance, "you've already packed your things as directed?" Harry nodded affirmatively. "Good, then you are given leave for the summer months and are due back here on August 15th, no later than six in the evening, or a warrant will be issued for your detainment. Do you understand?"

"I do, Headmaster," came the succinct reply.

"And you, Mr. Barton, you also understand the necessity of his attendance here at the aforementioned date?"

"Yes sir, I do."

"Very well, have a nice vacation gentlemen. I've other appointments I must attend to."

The dismissal was brusque but the relatives took it in stride, rising quickly from their chairs and each taking the headmaster's hand in a firm grip before departing the room side by side.

"Glad to see you remain enough of a fuck-up to stay here and away from us, boy," Vernon's deep voice stated matter-of-factly.

"What I do I do for me," Harry replied with only a taste of the true vitriol he felt standing next to his uncle. "You may have had my obedience when I was a child, but you've not had it in three years."

"As long as our goals align, boy, I'll not care for whom you do what you do. I've had enough of your presence already. The drive to London will be hellish, but as long as I don't see you until August 15th I'll take you there as per our usual arrangement."

"Neither do I want to be in your presence any more than required. As soon as we reach the first Tube station connecting to the city you can stop the car."

The kind of laughter reserved for enemies was the last sound he got from the larger man. Nothing more was said on the walk to the car, nor on the drive to the outskirts of the city, nor even as Harry stepped out of the vehicle while it was stopped at city light one block from the tube station.

Harry stood out on the corner of the street for a moment, lighting up a cigarette, his first in hours, and forced himself to remain with his back turned away from his uncle's car as it sped away.

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

"Good to see ya again Harry." The deep voice which delivered the statement didn't seem to fit the lanky man with the baby face, but Harry had long become used to that particular oddity.

"Afternoon, Jack," the smaller boy responded. "Do you have an open room for let? I'll need one for roughly three months." Harry fully expected a room to be available despite the summer tourist months being upon the city. After all, the inn was not in the most choice area of town.

"Of course Harry, for ya I'd remove a patron." The offering was insincere, both knew it, but it was delivered smartly with a smile and a false air of truth. Both men stared at each other briefly before breaking into laughter.

"You've gotten better at that Jack, if I didn't know you didn't mean a single word of what you just said I may have just believed it."

"Why thank yeh, Harry, you're too kind. I've been practicing that delivery for weeks. Knew yeh'd be back, ya see."

Harry waived off the comment. "Of course, I'm not going to stay with my relatives, am I? Anyway, what's the rate, Jack, still got the studio for two-eighty?"

"Nicely done, Harry boy, but not quite suave enough, ya know the rate was three-ten last summer, and you're lucky it hasn't gone up. Purely 'cause I like yeh, ya know." Another award winning smile flashed Jack's stereotypical British pearly whites.

An exaggerated sigh came from the younger boy. "Can't blame me for trying, now can you Jack? Oh well. Three-ten will be manageable. Can I pay in weekly installments again? And as usual I'll need a day or two to get the first week's rent." He shrugged.

"Sure thing Harry, I know you're good for it. But be sure not to tell me where it comes from, I don't want to know. And nothing illegal in the room, don't need the constables coming round here. Bad for business, ya know."

"Right Jack, you make it sound as if London's finest weren't in the neighborhood incessantly. Anyway, could I get the key, this stuff is getting heavy."

"Righto, here yeh are. Number twenty-one, same as last time I believe. Let me know if there are any issues." Both men laughed again knowing that you got exactly what you paid for.

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

Sleight of hand. It can be trained, of course, most things can, but the greats are born with it. Most that have it are never aware. After all, bar becoming a stage magician there are few reasons to explore such dexterity. For the average street urchin and petty thief, however, sleight of hand is the difference between survival on one's own and survival at the mercy of the government. Even for the best, however, there were risks – and mistakes.

Harry was hesitant to claim he was good at any particular thing, for he was of two opinions on the matter: One, there was always someone better, and two, why let potential adversaries know what your strengths are? Among those few he had traveled with in the past though, Harry was known as one of the best. In a fraction of a second of contact he could have a victim's wallet, keys, and sunglasses in his possession. Standing behind a victim on the Underground, he could purloin a wallet, remove a card, and replace the wallet with the victim being none the wiser.

With the ability to support himself alone, the smart money was placed on Harry staying out of the hands of the state. But the smart money did not fully understand Harry's situation. While he was often away from his relatives' house, he did still return there to sleep most nights. His aunt and uncle, viewing their nephew as a burden and not caring about his future, called the police after discovering several questionable items in his possession. So it was that Harry Barton generated a criminal record.

His relatives used his record to remove the burden from their house and place it on the state, and Harry soon after was enrolled at St. Brutus'. It was at the end of the schooling year that Harry and his uncle set up his current living arrangements.

It was odd, perhaps, that a child of nearly sixteen would prefer to live at a boarding school for the 'Incurably Criminal,' but Harry found the arrangements most convenient. He had access to resources he would be hard pressed to provide for himself while at school. Despite being a prison of sorts the school had managed to acquire a truly remarkable teaching staff, many of whom were in the later stages of life and viewed the position as service to the community.

Harry was well-liked by the majority of the schoolteachers, and applied himself fully to the lessons taught. He knew, unlike many of the other students of the school, that no sustainable future lay in his career as a petty thief, and unlike some of the students, had the mental aptitude to overcome his situation.

He was suspected by several of his teachers to have an eidetic memory, and he worked tirelessly to downplay his true intelligence and fly under the radar. In truth, Harry did not believe that anyone could have a truly photographic memory, but he supposed that he was indeed somewhat of a savant. His mental recall of anything he read was well above ninety percent and the speed at which he could absorb text was unmatched by any other he had met. These natural talents had served him well thus far both at his school, where he was able to draw on the practical experience of his teachers to augment his understanding of a subject, as well as during the summer, when he practically lived at the British Library.

That was, in fact, where he was headed to at the current moment. Harry used the opportunities provided to him on the Metropolitan Line of the Underground to purloin near one hundred quid from a variety of passengers, taking care not to liberate too much from any one person. The trip was not long, less than an hour, and soon Harry stepped onto the platform at the St. Pancreas tube station, a few minutes walking distance from his destination.

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

"Pet, darling, I believe this would be for the best."

"I don't know Vernon, without having seen him for these last few years I find it hard to dislike him now. We've already gotten away with enough as far as he's concerned... why stir the pot?"

"Love, I know that you don't see him when I do, but take it from me, the boy is a menace. He's probably out there now looking for a way to damage us, or Dudley. Who knows what he could do?"

"We've kept that all from him Vernon. He doesn't know. He couldn't! Could he?"

Vernon took his wife's hands in his own, his meaty digits covering her own frail ones. "Pet, we don't know. If we do this, he can't find us. He won't have any legal recourse or assistance."

Petunia looked away from her husband of eighteen years. "You're right, of course, she relented. But -" She paused to gather her thoughts. "But I worry. I get the feeling that we should have handled this differently from the beginning. I've been having dreams of my sister -"

She was cut off by a growl from Vernon's throat. "Your sister is gone, as is her husband. We've outsmarted the whole of their kind, Petunia. You needn't worry about them any longer. He is our last remaining link, and I think that it's time that link is purged."

Looking up into the eyes of her husband, Petunia nodded her acceptance. Sitting at the nearby table she signed a form covered in legalese. Turning the page over, she signed another, and another, and kept at it until a cleared table was left in front of her.

"It's done," she stated simply. '_I hope Lily can forgive me.'_

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

An aging woman sat in a small office within the boundaries of London proper. Looking down at the pages sitting in front of her she sighed sadly. She could not fault the family terribly, after all, children made their own choices and sometimes just had to be let go. But it was doubly depressing when a child who was afforded every opportunity the state could give could not turn his or her life around. This child was provided a family, relatives no less, a stable home environment, and presumably love and affection. And yet, he had fallen into a life of crime and had become uncontrollable, running away from his relatives the day he had returned home from St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys.

She stamped the department's approval to rescind the adoption and caregiver status the Bartons previously had. The forms were filed and the woman began filling a form to legally have young Harry Barton's name changed back to that of his parents. Potter.

As the stamp came down on the piece of paper, forces beyond the understanding of the clerk went to work. Small alerts started to flash in two London locations and north in the Scottish highlands. Only one of these soundless alarms was attended to as short green-skinned arms reached out an up towards files which had remained unattended to for fifteen years.

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

Two weeks had passed since his departure from St. Brutus' and Harry had delved deep into a variety of subjects he had studied in school. Mathematics was among his favorite pastimes, to the incredulity of his classmates, and he often worked with the maths professor at St. Brutus' to advance himself beyond the material commonly taught at school. History was another vice of his, and one which he consistently scolded himself over. There was, after all, very little practical application of that particular interest and Harry was, if nothing else, a practical young man.

Which is why, at that very moment, Harry cursed as he looked over at the time, 11:58pm. He had started reading his current book at around eight, and now he had indulged in the history of the Americas for nearly four hours. Where had the time gone?

Harry smiled as he closed his book and got up off the lumpy mattress that had served as his bed so far this summer. Glancing at the small stack of books on the small desk the room came furnished with he quickly decided to take a quick break from reading and to shower before starting his next text.

His quick shower lasted just a few minutes, the hotel water heaters only operated in the mornings and the water was much colder than Harry was partial to. Toweling off he stepped back into the main room an was instantly aware of a strange scratching noise. Instantly on high alert he instinctively looked towards the door, the most likely source of the sound. The noise did get louder as he approached the portal, but it became clear that whatever was creating the noise was not on the other side of the door. Looking off slightly to the left the sound centered again and Harry stepped towards the small window. The alleyway outside was not lit, and he was unable to determine what exactly was causing the scratching.

As he closed the last couple steps to the window the scratching abruptly ceased. Looking out into the darkness Harry saw nothing that could have caused the strange sound. Overtaken by curiosity he unlatched the window and with a small grunt of exertion slid the glass pane up and opened his room to the outside air. Before he could even lean down and stick his head outside to glance around a large object came soaring into the room, hitting him in the chest and flapping at his face.

Swinging wildly at what was obviously some kind of bird Harry backpedaled away from the window and collapsed back onto his bed before realizing the bird was no longer seemingly attacking him. Looking around wildly he saw the assaulter sitting regally upon the edge of the desk. Gripped in its claws was a letter.

_'What in the name of all that's holy is going on here?'_ He though briefly before once again standing and slowly approaching the large – Harry now recognized it as an owl – on his desk.

After a short staring match, which the owl won, Harry, questioning his sanity, asked the owl, "Is that for me?" He pointed at the letter and the owl answered with several quick nods of its head.

It was at that moment that Harry realized he had indeed lost his sanity. Perhaps he was in a dream, an incredibly realistic one indeed, but a dream nonetheless. There was no possibility that an owl could possibly either recognize and comprehend the question Harry had asked, yet alone formulate a gestural response which could be correctly interpreted by the teen. The owl cocked its head as if to ask what was taking the bespectacled boy so long.

Harry closed his eyes, shook his head slightly and let out a quick sigh before taking the four steps to the owl and reaching for the letter. The bird released the correspondence with nary a hoot and as soon as the letter had been delivered jumped into the air – once again startling Harry – and flew out the window as though it had never been there. The raven-haired teen would have no doubt attempted to convince himself it had all been a figment of his imagination had he not been holding an envelope.

Sliding his finger under the flap to open the letter Harry reached into the envelope and pulled out a piece of – _'Parchment?.'_

_Lord Potter_, the letter began, and Harry's jaw dropped. "What kind of joke is this?" he wondered aloud. '_And who would know that name?'_ he added to himself before continuing on.

_It has come to our attention that you have not until this time been contacted by our bank and we are at this time striving to correct any and all mistakes regarding this issue. You have, as a valued customer, our apologies for these previous oversights and we will, of course, keep you informed of our findings as the investigation continues._

_Included in this packet are summaries of your accounts held here at the Diagon Alley branch of Gringotts Bank, your investment account summaries, and general bank information. We appreciate greatly your understanding in regards to this matter._

_Gringotts Bank of Diagon Alley_

_Head, Department of Customer Retention_

_Ripgott Skullsplitter_

_'What kind of name is that?'_ Harry asked himself as he shuffled the first page to the back of the pile of sheets and browsed the next.

_Summary of accounts:_

_Potter Family Trust_

_Harry James Potter, Trustee_

_Remus John Lupin, Successor Trustee_

_Potter Education Vault_

_Net liquid assets: 14.352g 11s 20k_

_Potter Family Vault*_

_Net liquid assets: 268.553g 8s 17k_

_Personal Accounts_

_Vault 3776_

_James Potter, Owner_

_Harry Potter, Beneficiary_

_Net liquid assets: 577g 3s 21k_

_Vault 4216_

_Lily Potter, Owner_

_Harry Potter, Beneficiary_

_Net liquid assets: 0g 0s 0k**_

_Total net liquid assets: 283.483g 6s 4k_

_*This vault contains a number of family heirlooms stored here in 1980 which are not included in liquid assets._

_**The liquid asset of Lily Potter's personal vault was escheated to the Ministry of Finance in 1989 according to the financial regulation act of 1644._

_Lord Potter,_

_If requested we are able to provide account statements of the last fourteen years as they had not registered as successfully delivered to your person through our mail department. I am able to tell you, however, that the only activity during this time were interest payments to both trust accounts. The vaults of your parents have remained inactive since June, 1981._

_We are currently in the process of having both your parents vaults liquidated to the Potter Family Vault per standard banking regulations as it is your main account remaining with the bank. Also, because of the irregularities regarding your situation we are attempting to reclaim the balance of your mother's account with us from the ministry in the amount of 4,581g 5s 9k. As of this moment we have not yet met with success but we have every hope of recovering these assets for you as soon as possible._

_I recommend that you come down to our institution at your earliest convenience in order to speed any process along which will require your physical presence, such as a full inventory of your family vault. We would also require your presence to determine if any other vaults have fallen to you in the years since the bank has had last contact with your family._

_Gringotts Bank of Diagon Alley_

_Head, Family Account Management_

_Nibgit Axegrinder_

The numbers were large, which was impressive, Harry thought, but without a frame of reference for the value of whatever currency was being discussed he had no idea. After all, the lira held its value to the pound at around 3000:1. At that value, Harry could be inheriting somewhat less than one hundred pounds sterling. Yet somehow, it seemed unlikely that these notices would have come to him for so little value.

It occurred to him that he was no longer thinking that this was a joke, or a prank. How could it be? It was far to intricate. Something strange was going on to be sure, after all, who used an owl to deliver correspondence? However, the whole thing seemed to ring true to Harry, a gut feeling that clashed with his rational mind. Yet, as he pondered the situation a bit longer, it made a sort of sense. His parents had died early, yes, but surely they had some possessions that would be passed on. He had always thought that such things would have gone to his relatives, but perhaps they had not. Maybe that was part of the reason his relatives despised him so. Did they know about his inheritance?

The questions continued to fly through his mind as he turned to the page detailing his inherited investments.

_Summary of Investments:_

Harry scanned a listing of companies and stock held. Some of the companies listed he was familiar with, and it seemed as though either his father or mother had been seen a great future in technology. Also listed were some raw commodities, crude oil and platinum standing out as having generated high returns over the last two decades.

_Lord Potter,_

_Your investments represent a significant amount of capital and have not been managed since the death of your parents. We at Gringotts would like to speak to you in person as soon as is convenient so that this may be rectified. Additionally, we are currently working to gather all necessary statements of your investments to be delivered as soon as they are compiled. We hope to have this information out to you by Sunday, June 17th, 1995._

_Gringotts Bank of Diagon Alley_

_Head, Family Investments Management_

_Bogrod Metalshaper_

The phrase "significant amount of capital" drew Harry's eyes and both brows raised in anticipation. It was not likely, in his mind, that such wording were be used for any nominal amount of money. Convinced now that something was afoot, something that clearly was beneficial to him, Harry eagerly drew the last piece of parchment to the top of the pile.

_Dear Valued Client,_ the letter began, far more generic than either before it.

_We here at Gringotts Bank are pleased to have your business. As the premier bank servicing Great Britain we offer our clients a wide range of benefits unmatched throughout the Isles. We would like to extend an invitation to you to meet with a personal financial adviser at our Diagon Alley location in London or our Weavers District location in Dublin. We have included for your convenience directions from your current location to our closest branch._

_Gringotts Bank_

_Head, Gringotts Bank_

_Ragnar Coppersmelter_

Harry looked below and to his absolute astonishment a map with a dot labeled "You are here" sat at his exact location. From there a series of lines and arrows wound through the London streets and stopped on Charing Cross Rd. Below the map was another small series of instructions.

_Enter Diagon Alley through the Leaky Cauldron. If unsure how to proceed, ask for assistance from the Leaky Cauldron staff, they will provide you with any help you require. The bank is located at the end of the Alley. Alternatively, floo to 'Gringotts, Diagon Alley' and you will be brought directly to the branch entrance hall._

Harry's mind raced at a million miles a minute. How, exactly, was this map provided? Who knew he was here? _Was_ this a joke? A scam? If so, it was incredibly intricate. And what exactly were these names? The surnames could be English, but to have four names so odd working at the same institution was unlikely, in Harry's opinion. And the given names were even more strange. German, perhaps? Or maybe more eastern? And floo? What exactly was meant by that odd word? Was it a taxi company? And _what_ was with the owl? Who uses an owl for message delivery? Obviously Gringotts, but Harry simply could not imagine a company that would use such a seemingly unreliable carrier. It was all so baffling.

With a shrug Harry skimmed the letters once more before setting them down upon the desk He needed answers, and there was only one place to go for them it seemed. Tomorrow he would go to this Leaky Cauldron, and find out the truth behind these matters. If it was anything like what he expected he imagined tomorrow would be the most interesting day of his life thus far.

He could not have begun to imagine just how interesting it would be.

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

Harry rose early, as was his custom, the clock flashing 5:03am on the nightstand. Throwing some clothes on after a quick shower Harry grabbed his wallet and the parchments from the night previous and left the hotel room, locking the door behind him. It did not take long to board the tube and travel to the Tottenham Court Road Station. Exiting the station he walked south along Charing Cross Road, following the instructions on the map.

It was a walk of minutes to come across what had to be the Leaky Cauldron. Harry stared at it openly. It looked to be an incredibly dilapidated building, walled with timber, of all things, and with a mud-brick chimney happily spouting smoke, nestled between a used book store and a record shop. The few pedestrians around seemed to not notice the building there at all, shifting their gazes immediately from on shop to the other and skipping over the Cauldron entirely.

Nervousness rose from Harry's stomach. Something more odd than he had expected was happening here. There was no reasonable explanation for such a shop located in the middle of a shopping district. Strange shops could be found throughout the city, to be sure, but the building exteriors were mostly homogenous throughout London, especially in regards to connected storefronts. And yet, the Leaky Cauldron sat between the record and book stores splitting what should have been connected storefronts in twain.

As Harry stood across from the Leaky Cauldron, he noticed the door open and the strangest man imaginable exit. He wore a purple - Dress? Bathrobe? - and was smoking what appeared to be a foot long corncob pipe. A majestic beard swept down to his chest and his long silver hair ended somewhere down mid-back. Harry closed his eyes and shook his head to make sure he was no imagining the man. He heard a distinct 'POP' and opened his eyes in alarm. The man was gone.

More concerned about his sanity now than when he had been looking at the old man Harry gathered his courage and crossed the street towards the log structure. Above the doorway Harry spotted a picture of what had to be a cauldron with a hole in its bottom, leaking green liquid onto a fire. '_Leaky Cauldron indeed,'_ he thought with a nervous smile.

Opening what by all rights should have been an immensely heavy wooden door was surprisingly easy and Harry was afforded his first look inside the building. He was instantly reminded of an inn from a fantasy book setting. There were a number of wooden tables and benches set around the supporting wooden columns. To the left was a bar and to the right was a staircase leading to the upstairs Harry had not realized was there from his outside perusal. In the back was another door that seemed to match the one Harry had just come through.

There was no one in sight, which, it being so early, Harry supposed was not unusual. Passing through the tavern Harry exited the back door and found himself in a courtyard facing a brick wall. Atop the wall was a sign exclaiming 'Welcome to Diagon Alley.'

Harry sighed. A dead end, and a sign there to mock him. He had been so sure no one could have pulled such an elaborate prank. He would have to find the one who had put it all together. He did not yet know if he would congratulate the perpetrator or strangle him. Turning back into the tavern he was about to walk out the front door and leave it all behind when he remembered a line from the parchments delivered the night previous.

_If unsure how to proceed, ask for assistance from the Leaky Cauldron staff, they will provide you with any help you require._

Skeptical, but loathe to leave any stone unturned Harry approached the bar. Leaning over the counter he scanned the bar area and did not see any attendant. Walking down to the far end he noticed a sign posted on one of the columns.

_Use me for assistance._

Below the sign was – Harry blinked in incomprehension – a giant red clown nose. Could anything possibly become more queer? Shaking his head for what must have been the tenth time that morning he reached out and gently squeezed the vanity object and was immediately forced to cover his ears at the loud 'AOOOOOGAAA' released.

By the time Harry had recovered his senses he was ready to flee with all haste that could be afforded. He was stopped dead, however, by the appearance of a balding man with a slight hunch and hobble.

"Hello good sir," the man eyed Harry's clothing with what seemed like understanding.

"Umm, hello," Harry returned without any of his usual eloquence.

"Am I correct in thinking that you be requiring assistance in entering the Alley?"

Harry wondered how the man knew this, but answered in the affirmative.

"If you would just follow me? I'll have the pathway opened right quick." He hobbled over towards the back door Harry had just re-entered from with a gesture that indicated Harry should come with. Entering the courtyard the older man continued towards the brick wall over which the sign was placed. Harry stayed back at the door, wary of his unfamiliar surroundings. He watched as the old man took some sort of polished stick – a conductor's wand? - out of his pocket and began to tap bricks in a pyramidal pattern which Harry instinctively memorized.

Nothing could have prepared Harry's logical mind for what happened next. The brick wall began folding away from its center, one brick folding into another until a portalway had opened beyond, revealing an alley full of shops. Several pedestrians, were also dressed in the same strange clothing the man he had been sure until now he had hallucinated had been wearing. He looked at the bartender in shock.

"How – how did you do that?" Harry asked incredulously.

The bartender just laughed. "You must be new to the world of magic boy. Strange, since you look much older than eleven. You'll find all your answers in the Alley. Should you need assistance, feel free to ask any shopowner you meet. They'll be happy to explain things to you." The man opened the door as Harry stepped over towards the entrance to Diagon Alley, reeling with what he had just been told..

Magic? MAGIC? Who, what, when, why, HOW? Harry swayed on his feet. "Wait!" he cried out before the barkeep shut the door. "Can you tell me how to get to Gringotts?"

The older man opened the door again and looked out at the teen. "Here to see the goblins, eh lad? Well, easy enough. Gringotts is the white marble building at the end of the Alley. Just follow the path and don't diverge, you can't miss it."

With that, he turned back inside and shut the door. Harry literally felt his heart thumping ever faster in his chest. GOBLINS? What had he fallen into? Taking a few deep breaths to calm his pulse and nerves, Harry stepped into Diagon Alley. The brick portalway closed behind him.

An incredible volume of shops loomed before him. To his right was a shop labeled as an Apothecary which had signs outside advertising moonthistle at Seven Sickles a bundle and nightshade at One Galleon Two Sickles per bouquet. Harry immediately recognized the unfamiliar words as the currency values he was unfamiliar with. It seemed that his inheritance was shaping up to be quite the fortune indeed.

He continued walking past shops, drawing some stares from the passersby – wizards and witches? - as he went. He supposed that his blue jeans and t-shirt stood out amongst the robes all the others seemed to favor. He noticed a bookstore that did not seem to have opened so early in the morning and vowed to return there as soon as monetarily possible. Ahead he what had to be Gringotts Bank and he slightly sped his walking. Another minute brought him before the rather imposing structure. Eight giant marble columns supported the high portico and Harry felt as though he was entering the British Museum as he walked up to the grand entrance.

Off to the side of the entrance was a lyrical admonition against thievery and Harry wisely decided to keep his hands to himself whilst in the confines of the bank. Reminding himself that goblins ran the bank he steeled his nerves and took his first steps into an enormous lobby. To his left was a row of fireplaces, for what purpose Harry could not even begin to postulate, at the rear of the bank were several offices, presumably the personal bankers and financial advisers. Several hallways jutted off the back wall. To his right were teller windows, ten of them, only three of which were manned – goblinned? - at this early hour.

As Harry got his first look at the creatures he suppressed any reaction his face may have normally showed. They were odd looking creatures, green skin in various shades of darkness and somewhat differently proportioned than most humans. They were much shorter, for one, but they also seemed to have slightly longer arms and a thicker torso than most people Harry had met. While Harry imagined that the three goblins at the teller station were doing their best to be inviting Harry could not help but feel that the smiles on their faces were of the type one gives when inviting an enemy into a trap.

"Umm, hello," Harry began as he approached the closest of the three goblin tellers.

"Welcome to Gringotts this morning, how may I assist you?"

"I'm not entirely sure," Harry started, and he watched as the goblin barely concealed his irritation. Deciding he needed to elaborate, Harry continued. "I received notification from your branch that there were some irregularities with my account, and that I should present myself to your branch at my earliest convenience. I have the documentation sent to me if that would help any?"

The goblin nodded and reached out to take the documents from the teen. Browsing through them Harry thought he saw a small amount of surprise on the creature's face, but it could easily have been his imagination, as when the goblin raised his head back up no emotion was present at all. Boredom, if anything was all that was reflected upon that verdant visage.

"Lord Potter," the goblin spoke, "Nibgit Axegrinder has left instructions that if you were to arrive you be escorted down to Family Account Management. If you do not mind waiting a moment, I will summon someone to lead you to the correct offices."

Harry simply nodded his assent and the goblin made a few curious gestures on a tablet placed at his teller window. Small runic designs appeared briefly before fading from view. Within a minute, another of the small green creatures walked up to the window and did a quick once over of Harry.

"Griphook," the teller began, "Lord Potter here needs to be escorted to Family Account Management. If you could show him the way and let Nibgit know he is here?" The goblin named Griphook simply nodded to his colleague.

"Lord Potter, if you would follow me?" Griphook turned and walked towards hallways at the back end of the bank. The goblin moved rather rapidly for something of its short stature, though Harry's longer stride easily kept him close. The pair turned and winded down a labyrinthine path and eventually came to a door labeled with the department of their destination. Griphook opened the door and led Harry into a small waiting room that had several offices attached. Each was filled by a goblin that seemed engrossed in paperwork.

"Lord Potter, if you would wait a moment while I let Nibgit know you are here?"

"Not a problem." came the immediate response.

Several minutes passed before Griphook returned with a goblin that looked far older than the guide.

"Lord Potter, this is Nibgit Axegrinder, Department Head. Nibgit, this is Lord Harry Potter." Griphook introduced the two to each other and Harry stuck his hand out in greeting. Both goblins stared at him oddly and Harry lamely retracted his hand, clearly unfamiliar with greeting customs of the wizarding world.

"Lord Potter," the elder goblin began, his voice ran like sandpaper over Harry's ears, "I am very glad to have finally met your acquaintance, though I wish it were under more pleasant circumstances." The goblin spread his arms, palms open and facing up in a gesture seeking forgiveness.

"Nibgit, I must confess confusion regarding the situation, and why it is unpleasant. It was not until yesterday that I knew about any of this," he gestured around, indicating magic as a whole, rather than simply the bank accounts the two were speaking of, "and I've found myself rather overwhelmed thus far. Your letter mentioned some irregularities with my accounts, but again I must confess I have little idea as to what they could be."

"Understandable, Lord Potter. Please, have a seat." The two had migrated into Nibgit's personal office, alone now, and Harry took the seat across the financiers desk. I have been very busy the last couple weeks, Lord Potter, since we first discovered these irregularities on June 3rd."

Harry recognized the date as two days after he had left St. Brutus' for the summer holidays. There was nothing yet to suggest there was any connection between the two events, but he could not help but feel that they were related and immediately asked of the goblin, "What exactly happened on June 3rd to make the bank aware of the situation?"

Nibgit bared his teeth in what Harry supposed could pass as a smile, if a somewhat predatory one, in recognition of his client's obviously keen intelligence. "You suddenly came back onto the radar, to use a muggle term, my Lord." Harry took the new word in stride, connotation spelling out its definition as clear as crystal and merely sat, waiting for the goblin to continue with his explanation. Nibgit's grin spread wider.

"The specifics are still being somewhat worked out, but we do know the general gist of what has occurred at this point after exhaustive digging through muggle records. On October 13th, 1983, a couple weeks short of the second anniversary of your parent's deaths, you were adopted. This effected a name change to Harry Barton. You indicated that you are new to the world of magic as of yesterday, so forgive me if I am incorrect, but I assume you do not know the significance of a name as it ties in with magic?" Harry nodded that the goblin was correct in his assessment.

"Lord Potter, a name is an incredibly useful tool. Many of our spells, which control such things as census and message delivery, are focused exclusively upon a name. When yours was changed in the muggle adoption process, though it was not a magical process, it was a legal one, and magic itself recognized the change. Thus, you disappeared completely from our world.

"The magical world is somewhat... illiterate... when it comes to the muggle world. Though there was a paper trail for those that would have cared to look, those that did search had little clue where to begin. I must confess that our bank only recently has familiarized itself with common muggle practices after having recognized the immediacy of the need. Also, as I have explained, a name is something very important within the magical world. We do not effect complete name changes here. Had you been adopted by a magical family named Barton, you may have taken two family names as Harry Barton-Potter. This would have left you identifiable as either Harry Barton or Harry Potter to our spells.

"Two weeks ago, emancipation papers were filed with the muggle ministries. Your name has reverted to Harry Potter, and you have once again appeared in our constructs."

"The Bartons emancipated me?" He questioned briefly. The goblin nodded affirmatively. "That means they have likely informed the government that I have run away, which means there will be a warrant out for my arrest." The goblin confirmed this as well with another nod of his head.

"I have no desire to return to my school as of yet, Nibgit," Harry confessed, "and less desire to have another felony charge on my rap sheep."

"Lord Potter," the goblin began, "I, too, have no desire to see you return to the muggle world. There are many things that we are capable of, through the use of magic, and it is my belief that you would be better served to stay in this world. You have a sizable inheritance, which you could live comfortably on for many years yet, available to you. You would be able to use these years to bring yourself up to date, as it were, on this world, and to find yourself a niche in wizarding Britain. Or, if it is your wish, another wizarding community in another country around the world."

"If I were interested in following the path you have just outlined, Nibgit, what course of action would you recommend?"

"I am glad you have asked, Lord Potter. Very glad indeed. What I recommend first an foremost is that you indulge our bank with a heritage test. This will prove, unequivocally, your identity and right to the accounts detailed in our correspondence. It will also, I suspect, reveal several other vaults which have fallen to you through the eradication of other bloodlines. Once taken, we will be able to assess your true worth, liquid and non. I suspect that there are a number of suitable properties which have fallen to you at which you would be able to take up residence."

Harry nodded his understanding. "Is there anything barring me from taking this test today, Nibgit?"

"Have you copulated within the last twenty-four hours?"

Two blinks were all that betrayed his confusion and embarrassment before Harry responded negatively.

"Then we can proceed now, if you would like?"

"I would." Harry sat and watched as the department head scratched out more runic symbols on a pad identical to the one the teller had on the main floor. Griphook re-appeared several minutes later and Nibgit asked that Harry follow him to the ritual room, and thanked Harry for his prompt response in helping to correct Gringott's oversight.

"How does this heritage ritual work, Griphook?" Harry inquired of his guide. "I assume it analyzes blood in some fashion to determine genetic lines?"

"An astute guess, Lord Potter," the goblin responded, "but that is not how the ritual determines identity. A creature's magic has a unique, taste, to it, for lack of a better descriptor. Family magics are passed down through bloodlines, and through blood, yes, but in order to determine heritage, your magic itself must be tested.

"You may have surmised from your brief contact with our world that it is not as densely populated as is the one from which you come." Harry nodded in acceptance of this and Griphook continued, "It was decided by the British Ministry of Magic in the sixteen hundreds that the wizarding and muggle economies must remain separate. The main reasoning for this was that the muggle birthrate began to far outpace that of wizards, and the Ministry feared losing its income to muggle and squib inheritors."

"My apologies, Griphook. I understand muggle to mean any non-magical person, but what exactly is a squib?" Griphook waived his hand dismissing the apology.

"I should have been more leery of my choice of words, Lord Potter, knowing that you are just being introduced to our world. A squib is one that has been born of magical parents, but has no magical talent of one's own. A squib is more likely to produce progeny with magical ability than a muggle."

"Are squib births common?" Harry inquired.

"More common than we may know, Lord Potter. Squibs are for the most part considered a stigma for those that fashion themselves pure-blood magical families. Though it was made illegal over two centuries previous, it is widely rumored that infanticide is still practiced amongst many families when it is determined a newborn lacks ... talent."

Harry sneered in disgust before bringing the conversation back to its original track. "How does this ritual analyze my magic, if indeed I have any?"

Griphook gave a short bark which Harry took as a laugh. "Lord Potter, I assure you that you have ability, though it may not have manifested in ways which you have perceived as unusual. For one, the owl which delivered your letter relied upon your magic, and magic's acceptance of your name, to find you. Had you not had talent, the letter would have been undeliverable. But to answer your question, we will take several drops of your blood – as you recall I mentioned that magic is passed through blood – and will place them into an artifact crafted for this specific purpose.

"The Basin has been crafted with runic structures that recognize the patterns and… taste... of family magic. It will be able to tell us to which families you are in the line of succession. If any of those families show without an heir, or if the bank is able to determine that your right to succession supersedes the current heir's, then those assets will come under your control."

"I understand," Harry voiced as they approached a large set of double doors. Griphook produced a large iron key, which he used to open the room ahead and gestured for Harry to follow him inside.

The room itself was not large, as Harry had expected from the size of the entryway. In fact, it was little more than an alcove behind the doors. Directly before him sat a pedestal, and atop it sat what had to be the Basin Griphook had mentioned. It was not impressive at first glance, a simple stone bowl, but as Harry approached it became clear that the rough surface was merely an illusion created by the hundreds, perhaps thousands, of runes carved over the whole of the Basin's surface. Harry found himself mesmerized by those designs for the briefest of moments before forcibly dragging his attention back to his goblin guide.

Griphook now held a dagger in his hand and gestured for Harry to offer his palm, which the raven-haired boy did. Harry squashed the natural grimace as the blade painlessly ran across his palm, beckoning the blood necessary for the ritual. Griphook finished the cut and held the dagger vertically over the Basin, measuring out five drops of blood from its tip before stepping back and allowing the Basin to work its magic.

As the first of the droplets came into contact with the stone construct, the runes Harry had noticed prior to the ritual suddenly came alive with light. They flashed in a seemingly random pattern before suddenly morphing into a series of shapes. A winged lion flashed by, as did a mounted knight, a shield crossed with an maul, a snake, and a variety of other forms which Harry was not quick enough to identify. This show lasted less than a minute, and the Basin suddenly went inert. Unable to help peering into the Basin, Harry noticed the drops of blood that had been measured out into it had disappeared.

"Very impressive, Lord Potter," Griphook chimed. "The bank will have to review my memory of this, of course, but I did recognize several sigils of family lines that you are likely the main inheritor from. We will, of course, let you know what we have discovered within the week."

Harry nodded, suddenly realizing that the Basin had revealed his inheritance by shaping the runes on its surface into family coats of arms. "Thank you Griphook. I have the utmost faith in the bank's doing so."

Griphook looked inordinately pleased with his response.

"Thank you, Lord Potter. Your faith shall not be misplaced." He bowed his head slightly before continuing. "Now, shall we return to Nibgit? He will have much to speak with you about."

"If you think that is best, then lead on."

The two filled the walk back to Nibgit's office with idle chatter, Harry throwing out questions about wizarding currency and economy, and Griphook proving very adept at fielding them.

As they returned to Family Account Management Griphook once again left to inform Nibgit of their arrival. Both goblins returned momentarily and Harry was once again invited back into the Head of the division's office. Bidding farewell to Griphook he once again entered Nibgit's office and sat in the chair across from the old goblin's desk.

"Lord Potter," he began, "the Heritage Ritual has confirmed your identity with unimpeachable authority. It is time that we discuss your full inheritance from the Potter line." He sat back as if settling in for a long conversation as Harry hoped against hope that this world would provide him haven from the Bartons and his criminal record, and the ability to make his own way in the world.


	3. Know Your History

**Chapter 2**

_1980_

"Albus, the recent attacks on the new graduates are cause for great concern," Minster of Magic Jerrison Turpin started, his hands twisting in nervous apprehension. "And not just for the Ministry! The public outcry is beyond anything we have previously experienced."

The highly respected and decorated Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry sat back in the chair of his office, slowly drawing on a long stemmed pipe, staring at the head of British magical government, his scorn carefully concealed. It was just like the man to panic in a new situation. It was a good thing that his term would be coming to an end within the year, perhaps then a real leader could be elevated to the position.

"I am not unaware of the political repercussions of Voldemort's change in tactics, Minister, though I find them secondary to the consideration that my students are being assassinated. I have seven years investment into each student who leaves Hogwarts, they are the best and brightest of our world, to lose even one is a loss that we should not bear."

Jerrison Turpin flinched at the cold steel of the Supreme Mugwump's voice.

"I suspect that this time Voldemort has made a fatal mistake. He does not understand the way others care about progeny and those families that have lost a piece of their future will be all the more committed to his destruction. I know that you have already accepted the financial aid offered by the Zabinis and Goldsteins. I urge you to throw the funding into the Aurors and to bring in the help you have been unwilling to pay for that the Australians have offered.

"As for the safety of the next year's Hogwarts graduates I have already decided on a course of action. A newly established foundation has provided Hogwarts with the financial means of its own to pursue the establishment of an institute of higher learning."

The Minister sucked in his breath harshly as Dumbledore's gaze pierced him and he inwardly cursed viciously.

The Hogwarts Charter was drafted in 979AD by the Four Founders in agreement with the British Monarchy, which at the time was the legal government of both the Magical and Muggle worlds. Aethelred II, known to history as the Unready, had sat upon the throne for just a year after murder of his elder brother. His rule was pockmarked by invasions of the British Isles by the Danes, and he squandered nearly one hundred thousand pounds of silver buying temporary non-aggression over two decades.

His incessant need of funds had made it easy for the Four Founders of Hogwarts to take advantage of his position for a favorable Charter, and they did. In return for the land, legitimacy, and assurance that Hogwarts would remain solely in the hands of it's headmaster and board, which was chosen from the existing faculty, the Four Founders provided yearly payments of fifteen hundred pounds of silver for a single decade. They had also provided a court wizard, who was charged with Aethelred's safety. The contract itself was a magical one at the insistence of the four and bound all future British governments to its terms. The ten years ran their course, and Aethelred II passed in 1016 AD, and with his passing any control the government had over Hogwarts expired. Generations of leaders afterward had forever cursed Aethelred's name for placing a gold mine outside of their control.

In the thousand years that followed, Hogwarts became the model for other magical institutions that rose up around the world. Beauxbatons was a product of the Renaissance and was the model on which Versailles was later built. Durmstrang followed in 1618 and its first ten graduating classes contributed directly to the start of the Thirty Years War. Salem began as little more than a schoolhouse in 1690 and was almost immediately struck by tragedy. It reformed in 1720 with proper wards to protect its students.

The Middle East erected its first in Damascus, and shortly after concessions and agreements with imperialized countries led to the Dutch forming a magical university in Johannesburg, and the English founding another in Delhi. Hong Kong and Beijing soon constructed their own and those two were followed almost immediately by the founding of another in Tokyo. Australia, New Zealand, Canada and Brazil all followed in the late 19th century.

Some of these schools, like Hogwarts, accepted only those with certain aptitude. Others took any who could pay. Small, government funded schools became commonplace in Britain and most 2nd and 1st world countries in the 1900s. These schools operated mostly as trade schools, training the majority of the skilled labor force within the magical community. Graduates of these schools often resented the success of the alumni of the larger magical institutions.

Within the last hundred years the Ministry of Magic, with the backing of the voters, had been attempting to find a foothold in Hogwarts. Pressure was put on the Hogwarts coffers by passing a law that taxed donations to private institutions and Hogwarts was forced to put off plans to open up the world's first magical institute for higher magical education. As donations ebbed the ministry had _graciously_ offered to fund the school if it could have a vote on the Hogwarts board.

Then Headmaster Dippet's rage was legendary when the offer was made. Taking advantage of little known provisions of the Charter he had revoked the diplomas of several alumni who had attempted to use the pressure being put on Hogwarts to raise their own personal public standing. This action instantly changed the status of their eligibility to serve on the Wizengamot and they were removed from those offices by the magic of the oaths they swore.

Two World Wars and a number of other international conflicts came and went, and the Ministry refused to back down from its stance. Now, ninety-one years later, the financial windfall Hogwarts had needed had arrived.

Dumbledore continued, "It will start as a three year program. Those that wish to stay at the school will be allowed to remain here, in relative safety."

Jerrison caught the meaning clearly. The ministry had four years to end the threat of Voldemort and prevent the massacre of another year's graduates from Hogwarts. Of course, the new Magical University would not provide a safe haven to graduates of other British schools and hoping he had an opening, the Minister of Magic took it. The response was chilling.

"Minister Turpin, it is not Hogwarts job to act as protector of the populace as a whole. I am doing what I am allowed to do by the guidelines of the Charter. It is your responsibility to provide protection for the magicals of Britain. Use aurors or fund the warding of homes through the goblins , but do _not_ attempt to place this burden outside of your control. I am not heartless, and I no more like that the graduating classes of Greenwich and Edinburgh suffered the same fate as my own, but I am still just a private citizen, and this is a private business. You have no right to attempt to force Hogwarts to become Atlas."

There was a brief pause before the shamed Minister bid his farewell and the floo connection ended. Dumbledore took a deep drag from his pipe in an effort to calm his raging magic before turning towards his office entrance, a corner not visible from the fireplace, and gesturing for his Deputy Headmistress to come forward.

"It's true then, Albus? We truly have received the funding?"

"I have received confirmation of such this morning Minerva, along with news I'm sure will delight you. Young Lily Potter is expecting." A grin split the elderly woman's face. Lily Potter, or Lily Evans as she had been when she had attended Hogwarts, was amongst the favorites of all the faculty. Though muggleborn, she had adapted splendidly to Hogwarts and the magical community as a whole. She was widely regarded as the brightest star to have graduated Hogwarts in recent years.

Her engagement and subsequent marriage to James Potter, who had become Head of the Potter family with the death of his parents in his fifth year at Hogwarts, had been something out of a fairy tale. And not just because James had broken out of an arranged marriage in order to follow his heart.

The Potters were amongst the oldest of the British wizarding families, their lineage traced back to the Peverells of legend. Their vast holdings around the area of Godric's hollow and their strong backing of the Glorious revolution alongside William Cavendish had caused them to be elevated to the peerage, and they were granted the hereditary title of the Magical Dukedom of Devonshire. The Potters and the Cavendishs maintained favorable relations through the split of the magical and muggle governments and a number of joint ventures fell fully into Potter control when the fifth Duke of Devonshire died a bachelor.

"What wonderful news!" Minerva McGonagall exclaimed. "I could not be happier for the two of them!"

Dumbledore gave her a knowing smile, recognizing his second's joy for her favorite student. "Indeed, and I must add, it is due to the Potters that we are have procured the funding we have so needed. Young Duke Potter has graciously ceded full control of the Cavendish to the Hogwarts Foundation for Higher Magical Education. Minerva's jaw dropped at the news and the now jovial Headmaster laughed at her sudden comprehension.

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

_October 31st, 1981_

"It's Voldemort! Take our son and run! I'll delay him!"

"No! I won't leave you!"

"You must! Please, you must save - "

An explosion ripped through house as the last of the wards protecting the ancient manor fell against a onslaught of magic it was ill-equipped to handle.

The woman met her husband's eyes and saw the plea there. Each of them knew of the possibility their son could be necessary to the defeat of the Dark Lord that plagued their country. With tears in her eyes she forced an "I love you" to roll off her tongue and turned away from her husband, desolate in the knowledge that he was about to die for her and their child.

Fleeing to the nursery she grabbed her child, bundled in a blanket, from his crib. A magical backlash slammed into her through her marriage bond and she knew, unequivocally, that her husband had just given his life in her defense. Grief held her immobile for an instant before determination to make her husband's sacrifice count for something rose within her breast.

She spun in place and the distinctive **CRACK **of apparition sounded through the nursery, but the woman and her child did not disappear. Panic began to set as she frantically murmured _Portus_ over a small rattle. Grasping hold of the baby's toy she felt the magic of a portkey grab ahold of her, and release its power, but once again she remained within the small room. She sank to her knees, despair flooding her body as she comprehended the totality of her failure.

She and her son were about to join her husband. And there was nothing she could do to stop it. She clenched her son to her chest with all the strength her arms could manage through her wracking sobs, unable to even understand that she was hurting her child with the force of her crushing hug. His cries joined her own as the door of the nursery opened, revealing her husband's murderer.

He may have been considered a handsome man once, strong facial features and frame could each have been developed into something beautiful, but the man had rejected his physical form for his magic. His skin pulled tight over his strong cheekbones, making him look gaunt, his dark eyes were sunk back into their sockets. His robes hung loose over his sickly-pale skin.

"Foolish woman," his scorn dripping from each word. "Did you really think you could escape me? There is no hiding when it is I who seeks."

The woman pushed herself back into a corner of the room, shielding her child within her protective embrace.

"I've no quarrel with you, girl. Separate yourself from your son and I shall allow you to live."

Still sobbing, she shook her head in rejection of Voldemort's offer.

"Very well, give my regards to your husband." A skeletal hand rose and two fateful words were spoken. "_Avada Kedavra._" A sickly green light shot from the wand held between those frail fingers and quickly traversed the distance between the caster and victims.

The curse threaded the woman's arms and struck the babe's forehead. The energy of the lethal magic should have instantly ended the life of the baby boy, but instead it came into conflict with another force. Unknowingly, the mother had enacted an ancient and forgotten protection with her love. Instead of seeking the babe's lifeforce, the energy of the curse continued through to the mother and claimed hers instead. As the curse claimed the sacrifice the mother's magic joined briefly with the babe's in battle.

Having claimed the mother's life the curse again tried to claim the child's, but was rejected by a magical core temporarily strengthened. The curse was denied its second victim and was returned in a backlash to the one who had cast it.

Even if he had expected the impossible to happen, Voldemort had no time in which to dodge. The curse, denied its original victim, was more than happy to claim its new host. The threat was over. It would be several hours before someone came to the house and discovered what had occurred.

When Dumbledore was informed of the events he bowed his head in mourning. The fulfillment of prophecy seemed to always demand a high price.

A special edition of the Daily Prophet ran the next morning.

_He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named Vanquished at Longbottom Manor!_

_Neville Longbottom Hailed as Boy-Who-Lived!_

It was not tears of joy that held every face as perused the Prophet, however. Staring at page ten many were forced to confront news which broke their hearts.

_Duke and Duchess Potter Murdered at Home_

_Heir Found Alive in Smoldering Ruins_

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

"James and Lily, Sirius! How could you?"

The outburst caught the young Black completely by surprise. He _knew_ that James and Lily had chosen Peter as the secret keeper. But, could that have been misdirection as well? Had they chosen Remus? Or possibly another? His inattention was his downfall.

Peter Pettigrew, by all accounts the least magically powerful of the four friends throughout his school years, showed that subterfuge and guile could match raw magical talent. A slicing charm removed a finger from his left hand, and an overpowered blasting hex removed half the muggle street behind him. Dropping his wand, nothing but a burned out core now, he morphed into his animagus form of a rat and scurried into a nearby sewage drain.

Ministry aurors, still monitoring all magic cast throughout the isles, arrived in response to the massive magical reading from the area. Sirius Black, in a moment of rage and insanity, was found holding his old friend's finger and wand, alternating between barking laughs and sobs.

He was immediately taken into custody on suspicion of murder, breaking of the statutes of secrecy, and of conspiracy. His family history was a black mark against him, and the inquiry held determined that he had killed his friend Peter Pettigrew and betrayed the Potters whilst acting as their Secret Keeper. He was brought to Azkaban until such time that a formal trial could be held.

Sirius was introduced to the pleasures of the dementors, and lost himself in the pain and misery they brought. He would not get his trial any time soon. The Magna Carta was not magically binding and Habeus Corpus was not a right guaranteed a wizard.

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

_Novermber 2nd, 1981_

"Remus Lupin?"the magistrate called.

"Yes, your honor." The young man who answered stood tall and proud, despite clothes that seemed a size too large and eyes that far older than they should be.

"I regret to tell you that your petition for guardianship of one Harold James Potter has been denied. It is the feeling of the state that because of your affliction you would not be able to provide a completely safe environment for the child. Guardianship will be passed to young Mr. Potter's aunt. A child care stipend will be paid from his trust vault to ensure his care."

"But, your honor, his relatives are muggles."

"Your objection is noted. However, in this situation the muggles in question already know about the world of magic. There are many witches and wizards that come from the muggle world, and the court has no issue with having the child raised by his muggle relatives."

"Your honor, in most cases I agree. But muggleborns do not have the station in the wizarding world that Harry Potter will have. If the court is set on placing him with his relatives, might I apply for magical guardianship?"

"I apologize, Mr. Lupin. The court has made its decision. The child will have his muggle relatives. The anonymity granted him in the muggle world may even help protect him from those that seek him. Additionally, once again, your lycanthropy prevents my granting you magical guardianship."

Remus Lupin did not respond other than to look down to the floor. He had lost everyone dear to him. His curse had prevented him from garnering many friends throughout his Hogwarts years, but James, Sirius, and Peter had been all he could have wished for. Now James and Peter lay dead, Sirius was imprisoned for being a Death Eater, and he could not even raise the child of his best friend because of an illness he had contracted as a child himself.

"Very well, your honor. If it is the court's will?"

"It is."

The man left the courtroom broken, unshed tears in his eyes.

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

"Coming!"

Irritation was evident in the cry, the knock at the door had interrupted her housecleaning. Petunia Dursley had never been accused of being easy-going, and her single-minded focus on appearences was hardly an endearing trait.

Nonetheless, she felt contentment with her life. She had a husband, albeit one that was neither affectionate nor doting, and a wonderful little boy. Though it was not the perfect life she had imagined as a child whilst playing House, it was good. Vernon's income was enough that she could be the homemaker she always wanted to be, and her little Dudley was quickly growing, clearly inheriting his fathers genes for girth.

Another rap ran through the house.

"I said I'm coming!"

Opening the door with a little more force than required Petunia was brought face to face with a man and woman in morning dress.

"May I help you?" Petunia's irritation with the two was curbed somewhat by their smart appearence.

"Missus Dursley?" the man inquired with a tip of his hat.

"I am she."

"Fantastic, we were worried you would not still be living at your last known residence. My name is Nathaniel Buckley, and this is my colleague Prudence. We are here bearing unfortunate news and a proposition." Concern creased Petunia's face as Nathaniel's voice became solemn. "Missus Dursley, I regret to inform you that your sister, one Lily Potter, nee Evans, was murdered on the night of October 31st." Shock ran through Petunia's core.

She had broken contact with her sister some years before, jealousy souring a relationship that had once been close. When Lily had received that cursed letter Petunia's world had fallen apart. Why was it Lily got to be the one to go off to a special school, why did Lily get to have the world of magic open up to her, and why was she, Petunia, left in a mundane world, jaded by the possibilities of what could have been?

Still, Petunia would never have wished this upon her estranged sister. Memories of playground fun ran through her mind as grief paralyzed her power of speech.

"I apologize for having to be the bearer of this news, Missus Dursley. Your sister's husband -"

_Lily was married?_

"- had no family left alive, or we would not be here. You see, you are the only family left for your nephew."

_With a child? I can't deal with this right now! _

"I'm sorry Mister Buckley. I broke contact with my sister many years ago." A shadow of pain flashed across Petunia's face. "I was unaware she was married, yet alone had a child." She paused.

"I don't think that my husband's and mine situation permits us at this time to take care of another child. I recently had a child of my own, and our finances are strained as it is."

"I understand the difficulties a child can cause with regards to finances, Mam," Nathaniel spoke, "but young Mister Potter does need a home. Additionally, from his family's estate, the courts have decided a lump sum payment of five hundred thousand pounds sterling would be made for his upbringing. That should offset any possible financial difficulties you could have with his upbringing.

Petunia stood in shock. Half a million pounds was more than she ever expected to see. The things she always wanted as a child seemed more in reach. But even as greed took ahold in her mind, guilt gnawed at her stomach. She did not want this child, Lily's child. It would be painful to look at him, if he looked like Lily. Was she considering taking him now just to profit off her sister's death?

"That is – a most generous offer, Mister Buckley. Might I have a moment to attempt to reach my husband, to consult with him about the situation? I could serve you tea while you wait?"

Nathaniel turned from her and quickly consulted with his colleague. "That will be fine, Missus Dursley. We can stay only a quarter hour, however, we do have other pressing business to attend to."

The two newcomers followed Petunia into the sitting room and each settled into a lounge. Petunia dismissed herself into the kitchen where she put a kettle of water on the stove to boil and then quickly lifted the phone from the receiver to dial her husband at work.

Five minutes later she had an answer for the two visitors, but felt no better. Vernon had been unequivocal. Take the money, they would deal with everything that came with an extra child. Returning to her guests she spoke with a confidence she did not feel.

"Mister Buckley, Prudence, my husband and I have decided we are able to take my nephew in with the generous stipend provided."

Her company both stood, and Prudence produced several scrolls of old, yellowed paper. These were handed to Petunia with Nathaniel explaining that they were both the adoption papers and the papers for the execution of the transfer of funds. As soon as her signature was imprinted Prudence handed her unsigned copies of the documents for Petunia's record, and then pulled out a stick roughly a foot long.

Though she had known these visitors must be magicians, the sight of the wand invoked the buried feelings of jealousy in Petunia's stomach once again. With a few unintelligible words a baby's crib was revealed upon Petunia's couch and she gasped in shock.

"Missus Dursley," Nathaniel began, "as you can see, we brought your nephew Harry Potter along with us in hopes you would take guardianship." With an easy motion he removed the blanket covering the child from view.

Petunia involuntarily flinched, the expectation of seeing some piece of Lily creating a sinking feeling in her gut. But facing her was a babe that seemingly had nothing of her sister. Relief flooded Petunia just as shame at what she was feeling took hold.

Nathaniel took Petunia's silence as his queue to leave. "Thank you Missus Dursley, for taking in your nephew. Prudence and I do need to return to the Ministry at this time, we will leave you to get to know your new son. Also, your stipend will be wired to your account at the Bank of England from Gringotts. We will make sure there are no tax implications to you from Her Majesty's Government. Have a good rest of your day, Mam."

"Good day to you as well Mister Buckley." With that said, both guests disappeared from her sitting room with a **CRACK** that caused Petunia to jump in fright. Her new charge was awakened as well by the report and Petunia felt all the relief she felt at his appearance vanish as she stared into his bright green eyes.

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

Over four years had passed since Petunia and Vernon had made the biggest mistake of their lives. Taking in their nephew had seemed to make good sense when the offer had been made, and it had been. The couple had been able to pay off their mortgage, get a new car, and start a college fund for their son Dudley, but neither had anticipated the constant feeling of being watched.

At first both had ignored the feeling, putting it off as unnecessary paranoia. But, each was also woefully ignorant of the wizarding world, and the idea that its members could do anything had rapidly infiltrated their minds. Petunia had, after all, seen them make a child invisible to her, as well as disappear straight out of her home.

Every backfire of a car became the arrival or departure of some unseen watcher in their minds, the feeling of being watched pervaded their lives. Petunia could no longer leave windows open in the house, for fear of being observed. Vernon became nervous for his wife's safety when he left the house to go to work. Each of them subconsciously knew that this was not their nephew's fault, but each had come to regard their adopted son with anger, and a small amount of fear.

Each was afraid that the watchers outside would hurt them if they treated their son with any more preference than 'the boy,' and so they worked hard to pretend they loved the child as much as their own. As they ran the charade, their loathing of the boy grew. He was taking from them the time they should be able to spend with Dudley! Harry Potter was the cause of the watchers, of the constant unease!

For two years Petunia had strained her brain, trying to come up with some way out of the magical contract she had signed without giving up the funds she and Vernon had been granted. Then, one day, it clicked.

"Vernon!" Petunia screamed into the phone, tears of joy running out of her eyes, "Vernon I've done it! I figured out how we can escape most of the responsibility of the contract!"

"How, Pet?"

"I was thinking about Lily. Just before we broke contact she had told me that when I married and my name changed, I would need to inform her of the change. Without the correct name, _their_ methods of finding people are horribly unreliable. It had something to do with a name change being recognized by – Magic – itself. Then I got to thinking that if _we_ changed our last name, and the boy's, then all those obligations referring to Harry Potter would be null and void. He wouldn't _be_ Harry Potter anymore!"

Petunia could feel Vernon's excitement over the line.

"Pet, darling, do you really think it will work? We'll sort out the details when I get home!"

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

January 11th, 1986 became the day the wizarding world lost one of the orphans of Allantide, though it would be many months before anyone would know. The ministry, in its usual efficiency, made yearly observations of magical children in muggle households. Thus it was not until the anniversary of Harry Potter's adoption that anyone from the wizarding world thought to look at the Potter file.

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

_June 31st, 1995_

"Albus!" the voice came from the fireplace almost before the green tinted floo-face showed in the hearth. "Albus! Fantastic news!" The face shined bright with a "I know something you don't know" visage.

The elderly Headmaster of Hogwarts turned from his desk with a deliberate slowness towards the voice he had quickly recognized as belonging to Cornelius Fudge, the current Minster of Magic.

"Cornelius. It's wonderful to see you as well. What, if I may ask, has brought you to my fireplace aglow?"

The middle-aged politician laughed gaily. "Potter, Albus! Harry Potter has reappeared!"

This proclamation was completely unexpected and the Supreme Mugwump could not help looking over at a shelf that held numerous arcane objects. One, mostly hidden by a wealth of others, which had been stationary for a decade was indeed slowly rotating again. Dumbledore quickly took stock of the situation. What did the return of Harry Potter to the wizarding world mean to him, personally? What did the lad's return mean for Hogwarts? And what did it mean for Wizarding Britain as a whole?

Dumbledore immediately analyzed his own stock in the situation and discovered that he harbored some small personal attachment to the boy due to his parentage. Lily and James had enabled Dumbledore's personal influence to expand tremendously with their grant of the Cavendish to Hogwarts. The loss of the same in the Potter holdings was no doubt a tremendous sacrifice.

Which led to what the Potter boy's return would mean to Hogwarts. Though there would likely be no academic or monetary benefit to the school to have the child attending, it would bring a certain amount of prestige. Additionally, it would send the idea that the Potter family still supported the school, having already made it the premier learning institution in the world. That notion would make the Ministry of Magic much more cautious in how they handled their often heavy handed attempts to gain some measure of influence over the school.

For Wizarding Britain the child's return would bring celebration. Though it had been the Longbottom's sacrifice which was responsible for the destruction of Tom Riddle, it was Duke and Duchess Potter that had eviscerated Voldemort's Inner Circle in defense of their home. The Potters' sacrifices, though overlooked in the initial jubilation were in many families just as celebrated as the Longbottoms'. Cornelius, Dumbledore thought, was clearly after the popularity boost that Harry Potter could bring to his lackluster administration.

The older wizard took a moment to make sure he was composed before responding.

"And have we made contact with the young Lord Potter?"

The question led to the minute dimming of Cornelius' attitude. "Not at this time, but we are pursuing all available leads and avenues by which to bring Harry Potter back into the fold of our world."

It was a politician's answer, Albus noted with sadness, and probably meant that the Ministry of Magic had no idea where the boy was.

"I see. When, exactly, did Mister Potter re-emerge?"

"We noticed the change yesterday evening, during a routine examination."

"And when did the change occur, Cornelius?" Dumbledore posed, noting the politico doublespeak.

The statesman's mood dimmed slightly once more. "June 3rd."

"So we are a month behind the curve. No doubt the goblins have already attempted contact with Mister Potter. Have we contacted them about his current status?"

"Albus! We've hardly even mobilized our own resources and you're advocating we outsource?" Fudge sounded scandalized.

Dumbledore cursed the man's stupidity. Was not it proof enough of the Ministry's incompetence that it had taken a full month for the Department of Magic Monitoring to notice the return of one of the most sought after magical children to the grid?

"Cornelius, I merely think that we should take every opportunity we can in order to make contact with Mister Potter with all haste. Has he not been parted from the world of his birth for long enough?"

Albus could see the visage of the Minister crumple in thought.

"Perhaps you are right, Albus. I will have my aides pursue any avenue of contact available to us."

"That is all I ask, Cornelius. Now, while I thank you for the most welcome news, I must attend to other matters. May we continue this conversation some other time?"

"Of course, Albus."

"Thank you. Godspeed, Cornelius."

.:oOoOoOoOo:.

The storm broke several days later when an intrepid reporter got her hands upon an internal memo detailing the progress of the search. Said reporter broke the news to the Wizarding public through the Daily Prophet. The public's clamoring was loud and demanding. They wanted Fudge and the Ministry of Magic to bring Harry Potter back, but the teen was nowhere to be found.

Pleas for his return were printed in the editorials of the papers. Unconfirmed sightings of the lad rained through the ministry floos. Fudge even stepped on the toes of Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and ordered an auror task force assembled.

It had been a month since the aurors had been tasked with finding Harry Potter, and not one sighting had been confirmed. The goblins, with their usual scorn, declined to give any assistance to the wizards looking for their client, only confirming that he had met with them on June 15th. Amelia Bones sat at her desk, frustrated with her situation. She had known the Potters. James and Lily had come to Hogwarts in her own 5th year. He, heir to the Potter dukedom, was destined to become one of wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelors. She, a muggleborn prodigy, had made a name for herself even by the time Amelia had graduated.

It was not long after Amelia had graduated through Auror academy that the two graduated and married. She had assisted with some of the testing for James Potter as he toyed with the idea of joining the aurory. It was a terribly sad day for her when the young couple passed. Now though, she was feeling a certain amount of frustration regarding their son. Intellectually, she knew and could accept that Harry was not at fault for her current situation, but she just wished that he could toss her a bone regarding his location!

A knock at her office door broke her from her reverie. "Come in!"

She was mildly surprised to find that the minister of magic, Cornelius Fudge, walked into her office. She immediately stood.

"Minister, good morning to you."

"Amelia, a wonderful morning to you as well." Amelia noticed there was a little skip in Fudge's step.

"How could I help you today, Cornelius?" she opted for a less formal address due to her superior's good mood.

"I have news, Amelia. A recent audit of Flourish and Blotts has revealed that young Mister Potter has been making recent purchases in Diagon Alley through the use of a house elf." He smiled, pleased with the information he had uncovered.

"That _is_ good news, Cornelius. It all but proves our suspicion that Harry Potter has taken up residence in one of the Potter estates. If the goblins had been willing to assist earlier, I'm sure we could have had this information a month ago."

"You can find him from here I hope?" queried Fudge with an obvious misunderstanding of how important such information would be.

Amelia chose to be careful with the information she imparted next. "Minister, as I mentioned, we have suspected for quite some time that Harry Potter was living at one of his family properties. We have already mounted a search of those properties which we could. Young Mister Potter is not residing at any of them we could access." Fudge frowned.

"We believe that he may be at the Potter manor house in Devonshire. The property wards are formidable. We ran diagnostics on them, of course, what came back was not promising. We may as well try to invade Hogwarts."

The pudgy Minister cut in, "Surely it can't be so bad, Amelia. After all, if the wards were so significant, Lord and Lady Potter would have hidden there, rather than in Godric's Hollow."

"There is evidence that the wards are goblin constructed sir," Amelia countered. "The decay rates seem to indicate that they were completed at some point after the deaths of Lily and James. Perhaps the Potters had commissioned the wards and planned to move back to the property when the wards were completed?"

Fudge nodded. "It is possible. That does not leave us in an envious position though. If Harry Potter does not come out from behind the wards, how are we to contact him?"

"There may be two possibilities for that, Minister. Though I am loathe to suggest at least one."

Fudge motioned for her to continue.

"It is possible that the Potters had certain acquaintances keyed to their warding scheme. Remus John Lupin, perhaps. He was a good friend of theirs through school, though he is a registered werewolf."

Fudge bristled. "I hope, Amelia, that Mister Lupin is the suggestion you were loathe to make!"

"Unfortunately not, Minister. In fact, it is because of his malady that I believe the Potters would not have included Mister Lupin into the warding scheme." The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement made herself speak in the most non-threatening tones she could manage.

"The suggestion I am loathe to make is that seeing as the Potters had already trusted him with such an important task, it is almost a certainty that Sirius Black has access to the Potter Manor."

Fudge looked on the brink of apoplexy and Amelia rushed to assure him that she was mentioning the possibility to him only to fully explore the options, no matter how insane. It did not take long to calm the Minster down long enough for him to think about both options.

"Lupin is not an option," Fudge declared after a few minutes of silence. "I can only imagine how the press would chew me up if it came out we had used the services of a werewolf in the search for Harry Potter! Gods! What if he were bitten?" Amelia held her tongue with some difficulty. The minster was not a man known for his moments of brilliance. She remained quiet as he continued to muse.

"That leaves us Black. That would be an even larger PR disaster than Lupin, but one also much easier to cover up. After all, no one has visited Black since his stay in Azkaban began. Yes, the more I think about this, the more I think it could work.

"Amelia, get with Croaker and his spooks down in the DoM. Find a way to have those wards broken if we can get Black on the inside. I want this foolproof. Give me a report on the matter before the end of the week. I want the Potter boy found as soon as possible, the public is not letting this issue drop and I need to put it to bed!" Privately, Amelia thought the man was making a mistake, but she held her tongue. When Cornelius Fudge decided on a course of action, as it seemed he had here, it was nigh impossible to dissuade him, and could only be bad for her own career.


End file.
